


Moths

by scarlettandblue



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 00:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10605597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlettandblue/pseuds/scarlettandblue
Summary: A little bit of Jack and Daniel, mentions of past abuse that is bad, and other stuff but I don't want to give it away.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another creakingly old refugee from LJ
> 
> I was inspired to finish this story by an utterly  
> gorgeous video made by called situations,  
> it reminded me why I love Jack and Daniel so very much.  
> And then along came the April challenge at the fabulous pepesplace to write some  
> Crack!fic and I finally recoginsed what kind of story this was.
> 
> But none of it would be here at all if it wasn't for the  
> sterling efforts of the really fantastic beta, Annie, thank you for your help, my dear.

I was inspired to finish this story by an utterly  
gorgeous video made by called situations,  
it reminded me why I love Jack and Daniel so very much.  
And then along came the April challenge at the fabulous pepesplace to write some  
Crack!fic and I finally recoginsed what kind of story this was.

But none of it would be here at all if it wasn't for the  
sterling efforts of the really fantastic beta, Annie, thank you for your help, my dear.

A little bit of Jack and Daniel

Moths

 

PLEASE READ THIS WARNINGS BEFORE YOU CONTINUE:

This is for adults only, there is swearing and slash!sex and non-con Jack in Iraq, a pretty poetry quote and a theme song, some possilby ill-judged purple prose and juvenile attempts at huomour, all wrapped up in the classic Crack!fic cliche, aliens made them do it.  
And finally it's written in the first person which everbody knows is the Crack!Ho of gramatical tenses. 

If you hate the sound of all of that then please don't read it. 

If you hate the sound of it and still read it, why, oh why, oh why would you _do_ that? 

If this sounds like a fun way to spend your next half hour, I guess maybe you should ask your doctor to double up the dosage on your medication. 

Disclaimer:  
I own nothing, clever TV execs and writers and producers and actors own it all. But please don't sue me for playing with your toys and getting them all filthy, it's just they're so cute when they're dirty and I only do this for fun, I don't make any money from it. 

 

Moths, burnt by the torch of the Beloved's face Rumi

 

When we stepped through the gate it went to Hell right away. Zapped by some big honking alien whammy before we had even a split second to react. It was like we never came out of the hole in the right place but were bounced off to some dank dungeon. Deposited sans weapons, sans BDUs, but with the kind of sickening rush of G-force and speed that left us all puking and moaning on the damp cold floor in our underwear. Even the T-man. It was like the morning after the worst frat party in the universe, ever.

Daniel was the first to get some kind of semblance of control back.  
“Oh Fuck...Oh God! Oooh _Fuck_.”  
You can always rely on a linguist to sum things up with an erudite phrase.

“Holy Fuckin' wormhole bastard...”  
Sam was next, the Wonder Twins were two for two and back in the game, and a scientific education is a wondrous thing for nailing those technical terms.

“URRGAH !! S'PEEUCH...”  
T-Man never swore, not in any language I recognised, but I figured this might be some kind of Jafffa curse, then again perhaps the big guy hadn't finished with the Chulak up chuck yet.

And what of yours truly? Your narrator, brave Colonel Jack?  
Well to be honest I couldn't even muster the strength to open my eyes after that first ghastly, wrenching moment, landing in a boneless heap, vomiting all my insides out. I was afraid, to be honest, of opening them and seeing my actual liver or lungs right there where it felt like I'd coughed them up in the dirt. But inside _yeah sure you betcha_ I was the man. Stayin' frosty, swearing like a Jarhead and I promise that was just sweat, gathered there in the corners of my eyes. And I wasn't feeling every one of my fifty years right down to the aching marrow of my soul.

After a while T and Daniel recovered enough to drag me across and lean me up against the nice comfy wall. All I wanted to do was sit there a while, getting acclimatised to being more upright. I still didn't have much to say. To be honest I was afraid that if I opened my mouth the rest of my insides might make a bid for freedom too. 

I didn't understand why I seemed to be the worse affected. I'd never had this problem in jets, hell I'd been fine in the death gliders and the X300. But man I was fucked up but good. So I _was_ quiet on the outside, but my inner monologue was working loud and clear and shouting _fuck Fuck FUCKITY FUCK_. And I never argue with my inner monologue, it has a kind of radar that can pick up a cluster fuck way way before it lands. 

The last time I felt this bad was the mission to Kwelona. Time before was the incursion into Iraq. Like a fool I ignored it both those times until it was too late to matter worth a damn. So that warning was rumbling and thudding inside me again and I could feel it all through my body, churning up my guts and vibrating my bones until I was nearly screaming from the tension. Until it was almost audible. The deep resonance of a mission gone Krakatoa bad, gone super-fuckin-nova bad. Damn it was getting loud inside my head.

“Can any of you hear that?”  
The voice had sounded thin, reedy, Christ it sounded like my grandfather had on his death bed, no way that was my voice, was it? Apparently it was

“Hear what, Jack?” Daniel really hadn't sounded all that much better than I did.

The noise in my head got worse, loud, deep, throbbing. “That!”

“That what?”

“What?” Maybe I was just having a stroke. Finally I cracked my eyes open, to see if everything was tinted red. It wasn't red, it was all grey. Grey was probably a bad sign, worse even than red.

“What can you hear, Sir? Can you describe it?” Ah, Sam, always with the weighing and the measuring and the recording of the measurable data.

“So you can't hear it?”

“I hear nothing, O'Neill.”

Okay, well if T can't hear it.

“Just me then I guess.”

By now the sound was vibrating through me like high C through a wineglass, any second I was going to come apart, going to shatter. And then it stooped.

The silence was so sudden it was painful. I felt nausea rise in me again and had to swallow it back down, because puking ones guts up because of a noise is not a sign of manliness... not in this man's SGC. 

Then, like the earth had cracked open, new sounds scraped and yawned into existence and this time it's voices whispering and the sound of feet shuffling closer. I turned my head painfully towards the noise. To where a shaft of pale light had entered our prison and I knew that I was the one they'd come for. Figures waited by the entrance as I got up. Slowly, like all my bones were broken and grating, I walked across the room and stepped into the light.

It was strange, after, when it was all over, some parts of it seemed to fade. I mean some of it I remember with painful clarity, other parts seem like an old silent movie, jerking and rushing through one scene to the next. Like I was drunk or tripping, not that I'm admitting to having tripped, Conduct Unbecoming, and all that, still some of it is there in my head, but for other things there's no memory at all. Like how I got there. One minute I am stepping up to that pale light, and then I'm _there_.

 

Everything was sweet and heavy. I felt heavy. Couldn't keep my head up, eyes kept shutting. The air was weighty, pressing me down. It was hard to breath in, like molasses, it was so thick and so sweet in my nose and mouth, and the weight of it in my lungs made my chest ache. I was standing in front of a kind of stone altar with odd grooves and strange niches and carvings. And the place was alive with sound. It seemed to fill me, like it wanted to take me over. I don't know how long I stood there, mesmerised and forgetting that things had gone to Hell from the start . But eventually I noticed I wasn't alone.

That's when it all slid into place. When I began to realise just how bad this was going to be, how much trouble I was in. 

Two of them held my arms, pushed me against the stone wall and held me there..

I went wild with panic, a flashback, I don't truly remember it all, but struggling and fighting against the restraints they used to tie me down. The heaving sickening terror as they cut off my clothes. And under it all the terrible fear that this would never end, that this was going to happen over and over. _No, not again...I can't .....not again..._ And that 's the other voice I sometimes hear inside my head, that one is always right too. It's not the inner monologue voice, that's the cool Jack who's seen it all and done it all voice. No this is another voice altogether.

It's still, Jack this voice, but it's seven year old Jack saying _No I don't want to go in there!_ afraid to see grandpa in his coffin. Or Jack at fourteen whispering _Oh baby I love you, I love, Oh God I love you, Oh yes_ in the dark apple loft where he lost his virginity to Nancy Olsen. Or maybe sixteen year old Jack saying _I think we hit a cat_ , afraid to look down at the cat, accidentally hit with dad's truck. Afraid to see the cat dead and squashed all over the black top, even more afraid to see that maybe it's not quite dead yet, but struggling feebly, trying to drag the squashed and already dead parts into the long grass at the side of the road. It's the voice that radioed back _target was acquired_ trying desperately not to admit that despite all the training, all that shit that's supposed to make you forget what's really at the other end of your gun, when you pull the trigger it's the worst thing he had ever felt. Because at twenty-four Jack had no fuckin' idea whatsoever how it would feel to kill someone. And then he does. And if he could take it back he would but now this Jack understands you can never take it back, and it makes him want to cry then but he was afraid if he did the sergeant would shoot him.

The voice was also once thirty one years old saying _We got our little boy, Sara! Oh God he's so beautiful, our Charlie, and we're gonna love him so much._ Because I'd never seen anything so damn perfect before in my life. Then at thirty three that voice was shouting after the rescue chopper _Delta Lima Tango, come in, request emergency evac, medical emergency._ but no one responded and the chopper flew away leaving me behind, leaving me for them. And soon after the same voice was saying _No. No. No...Please God, no more._ but they still did those things anyway.......The voice was forty one years old saying _Do something please...He got....My gun....Oh God, we got him here as quick as we could. Charlie, his name is Charlie O'Neill.... He's ten, he's only ten.... you have to save him....please._ But I knew it was too late, I'd seen enough head shots, I'd seen that death many many times that I just knew it was too late, everything was too late........And that was the last time I spoke aloud with that voice, after that I only ever heard it in my head. 

When I left Daniel to die alone on Klorrel's ship that voice was shouting inside me _No! Don't leave him_. When I watched Daniel disappear, transform, become pure light as he ascended it was quietly whispering _Don't leave me_. And when I woke again and again in Baal's sarcophagus that same voice was begging _Just let it be over. Please just let me die_

And now that voice is screaming again, desperately, inside my head _I can't do this again. I'm too old. My body won't recover from it. My mind can't take this again._ But no one can hear that voice as they begin.

Except this isn't quite the same.

I know there's only one reason to push someone against a wall, restrained. Just like being tied to the wall of a cell, or over a wooden table, or across a bench, or a sink, or a filthy latrine, or a stinking straw mattress in an Iraqi army brothel or even across the smooth silky sheets on some snake head tyrant's bed. 

I know that once you're tied they strip away your protection, cut off your clothes, take away the tiny shred of dignity being clothed gives. I know this is usually followed closely by agonising pain of some kind, but strangely this time there's no pain at all. 

So I wait in the quiet. I can hear them breathing somewhere behind me, more than the two who hold me here against the wall. Maybe there's four or five of them I'm not sure, but the thought of that many of them makes my body try and curl up to protect myself. 

But I can't curl up, and they hold me here so easily it's frightening. They're so strong and I'm not, and that makes me panic more. A hand comes to rest on my back. It's sudden presence is shocking, although this hand does nothing to harm me, just pressed into my back firm but not painful. A large hand, although it is not easy to judge its size just by the feel of it through my t-shirt, but I think none the less that it's a large hand. Fingers are smooth, not rough or calloused, they don't catch on the material. 

Some how this hand comforts me. The weight and warmth of it grounds me in some way and the panic dies. Then I have to bite my tongue until it really hurts, and I can taste the salty copper of my own blood, because otherwise I think I might have cried with gratitude for this small mercy, this touch that lets me settle.

Now I'm even more afraid because with that one simple gesture they have me broken open again. I mean I know, I _know_ I'm broken already. Broken by any number of things that have happened to me, of course I'm broken. I wouldn't be human if I wasn't. 

But before, there was always a huge fight to get to the soft ruined parts of me. In Iraq. When Charlie died. When Daniel died. With Baal. All those times I broke and broke and broke again, but only after a fight. I'd fight until there was nothing left, and I'd still fight some more. Because the last thing to go is my smart mouth, _that_ keeps flapping long after the guts to back it up are spilled all over the floor. 

This time it's different because I never had anything to fight with from the start, and it's just over, and I know it. Still the hand stays. Gentle touch, helping me, letting me be calmed, just letting me be broken. Letting me remember.

Other hands touch me then. Warm and smooth, resting with an easy pressure on my back and arms, on my hips and my legs, my head and my neck. I have no idea how many people are touching me but the heat seeps into me from them, and then there is sound.

So deep at first I mistake it for a rumbling vibration, feeling it more than hearing it. Then it intensifies. Deepening and swelling until it seems to fill this place with its resonance. It blossoms into something more. Moaning harmonics and a deep swelling fullness. I have no idea what is making these sounds. Strange alien music. Like listening to Wagner at half speed, on acid. It could be the people touching me singing. It could be some weird choir made up of frogs and foxes, jaguars and whales. It could be some dark ancient machine charging up the cathodes in the death ray. It could be the swell and creek of some huge stone galley as it forges through the tide of heaven carrying the lost souls of the universe. But whatever, it's music I hear. And it moves me at last to tears. And if this is the last sound I ever hear, I know, somehow, I could be satisfied with that. 

Sometime ago, on some mud planet full of people who did nothing all day but lay in the sun, high on chewing the local weeds, making weird, rhythmic music by growling in the backs of their throats, I remember Daniel telling me that the native people of Australia believe the earth dreams and the sound of that dreaming is recreated in their music. I didn't understand what he meant then, but I think maybe I get it now. I wish Danny was here so he could listen to this weird, planet dreaming music with me. But really I'm thankful that he's not here, that I am going to endure this, not him.

The music is soaring now, filling this space, filling me. Grand and choral, full of such depth and emotion, yet beneath the harmony a strain of minor sounds act as a counterpoint that should be discordant but manage simply to draw the music higher still, making it glorious and totally unfathomable. It creates a strange mixture of feelings in me, anxious and comforted, filled with anticipation and dread. Because it feels like a prelude, like we are all waiting for something more. The second act.

When it starts for real I don't even notice. I'm so caught up in the music and the comfort of those hands that I don't hear the other sounds at first. The sound of intent heavy breathing and the urgent slide and slap of flesh on flesh is just there, part of the whole cacophony of sound until it reaches a level I can't ignore any longer. And once I realise what is happening all a round me panic spikes again inside and my body tightens unbearably preparing for what comes after.

And now the hands begin to move over me gently at first, and the intensity of my fear subsides but it doesn't go away as the touching becomes more sensual. Fingers trail and linger attempting to arouse not sooth. Hands find their way beneath my t-shirt and touch bare skin. My body is caught between flight and surrender and can do neither. 

Memories of the things that have happened to me, the terrible, awful things _they_ did are there clear in my mind and I fear the same here, or worse, because from the things we've seen some aliens can be way freakier that my brain can even begin to imagine. And yet beneath the fear I know there really is nothing they can do. That in the end this is just my body, my blood, my tears, and that one way or another it will be over eventually. That however painful they make it, nothing can ever hurt me worse than losing Charlie. 

I hear the harsh breathing and the quiet insistent moaning, the scent of something salty and bitter and a sudden hot wet splash soaking into the material against my hip. And this is familiar from early on in my captivity in Iraq. A dark, fetied box of a room, me chained to the floor by my neck so all I could to is lie or kneel or crouch low with my head near the ground. 

They would come in and humiliate me. Most of them would just piss, and that's bad, especially after a few day when it begins to burn the skin. But some would come in at odd times and relieve a different kind of need. And that was much worse because at that time there hadn't been even a hint of any kind of sexual abuse. It was all beatings, and intimidation, and starving, and humiliation. But the ones that would creep in at odd times were frightening because of the clandestine nature of their visits. I mean I knew that the prison commandant, and the chief interrogator had an interest in keeping me alive, getting information out of me. I knew that. But these guys that crept in and did what they did, I had no idea what to expect, and that made me more afraid. 

Of course after, when it was over and I could think about it, I understood, all of it was part of the same process, the use of threats gradually escalating. The trickery of thinking only the formal interrogation was sanctioned. But back then, in those first few weeks, they used that to create a fear that hung over me, to be used as a tool. Fear of the unknown, fear of what those others were going to do. The terrible certainty that one day someone was no longer going to be satisfied with simply having a wank, not when I was there helpless, conveniently naked and on my knees already. All part of the choreography of torture. But here and now it doesn't help to know that. Here and now the scent and sound and feel of someone rubbing up against me, of using me and coming on my skin takes me back there in a flash.

I feel a hand move between my legs and I can't help it, I close my eyes and whisper, “No, please, Oh God!” as I feel that first touch of hot hard flesh against my body. 

But like everything else in this place what happens is different. They slide my clothes off in slow studied movements. They peel off my t-shirt then hands caress and glide across the newly bared skin. And it is a kind of orgy, they are all getting off but none of them hurt me, their touches are still gentle, erotic even, and they come splashing across my body. Then hands press, they kneed and rub the slippery fluid into my skin until I'm covered in their sex. 

My back my legs and my ass, covered in a press of slippery hot hard flesh. And, oh yeah, they love my ass the best, no doubt about it, dicks sliding along the crack pressing hard and coming on my balls and especially against my ass hole. And I know something more is gonna happen. There's no way I'm here like this, pushed against the rough stone of this wall, I know this scene ain't gonna end until someone has fucked me. That's the way this is gonna play out. I know it, but it's strange because now, somehow, I'm not afraid.

It's like the fear had bloomed full blown and huge when this started but now its kind of wilted and died away. I'm anxious I guess, I don't want to be here that's for sure, and I'm worried they're gonna hurt me, but somehow I'm not afraid any more. I guess I'm resigned, I've accepted it's going to happen and at least I feel it's better than any of the alternatives. That Teal'c or Carter or Daniel was taken for this instead. And to be fair I am only getting what I knew I'd bargained for when I stepped up into the light. When they came into the dungeon or prison or whatever it was they were holding us in and I knew it was bad, so I stood up and made my way forward and said, “It's me you want, take me. Use me.”  
So I can hardly complain if they do.

But this is a weird, fucked up place. With its weird, almost bad, music, and it's strange, almost not, orgy.

There is a break in the music, a sudden hush falls and it's electric with tension. The hands and bodies touching me still, and seem to fade away. There is a buzz in my ears like thousands of crickets, and it intensifies until it's nearly unbearable and when it stops the silence is almost nauseous.

“Your sacrifice is pleasing”  
The voice that breaks the silence is like the rattle of baby teeth, saved in a tin. Like the hiss of owls fighting over prey and the wet dull snap of bones. It's terrible and indescribable and it's whispering in my ear in a breath that's hotter than the midday sun on Abydos. 

“Now we know you better... hotar.”

Another furnace blast of breath against the back of my neck.

“Turn, child, and face your God.”

Now normally there's nothing in this life calculated to piss me off more than some wanna be alien calling me _child_. It gets to me every time. Unless it's the Nox. The Nox have a get out of jail free card in the O'Neill game of life, and they can call me what they like, but all the other aliens, they can button it. Yet my voice catches in my throat, swallowing down the smart mouth remark I was gonna use to answer back. And I guess I know why, because this is it. This is the final act. The fat lady is about to sing. Jack is about to be very fucked.

And one thing I know for sure, I don't want to see whatever has _that_ voice. I don't care how mad it gets, I'm not going to look.

But against my will I feel myself begin to turn. And even though I try to keep my head low and my eyes shut, my head beings to raise and my eyes open and look.

And I'm on my knees suddenly.

And I don't even notice the painful protest my tired, useless joints make at suddenly coming into contact with the hard, damp ground. I don't notice anything really because the horror of seeing that face, of realizing that this thing is wearing _that_ face is so shocking it empties me out.

“The face of your beloved.”

And that rattle snake voice is so terrible coming out of my little boy's mouth it makes me cry, tears that are heart sore, the wrenching tears I almost never allow myself to cry.

“It's okay, Daddy.”  
The voice is so wrong but it doesn't matter because his hand feels just as it used to where it touches my face. Little fingers pressing into the wet tracks of tears, like he did, that one time. It was a blessed memory, Charlie was five, I think, or maybe six, and so unafraid of me. Going through that solemn stage some children get to, when he would look at the world through eyes that seemed far too old, that at times it caught my breath and made me ache inside for him. 

I was in the basement where I'd gone to hide when I felt myself falling into one of my _moods_ as Sara called them. Mood was Sara-speak for _Jack has gone apeshit fucking nuts over some little thing and thinks he back in Iraq or Odessa or He'rat or where-the-fuck-ever, and won't talk to me about it. And his silent rage frightens me so much that I need him to lock himself away somewhere, so I can feel safe._  
But Charlie found me. Stood there for a moment looking with his wise eyes before he touched me and said _It's okay, Daddy._

I hate it that parts of my life really are such a cliché, but that doesn't make it any less true, and it doesn't make it hurt any less either. And it does hurt, like a son of a bitch, hurts every day that I wake up and remember that it really was okay, as long as he was with me. It really was finally okay. But then I remember that he's not here any more. My boy. My Charlie. 

And the worst part of this is that I know that isn't Charlie, no way, and that hurts worse. To see him and yet know it's really _not_ him.

“It's okay, son”

Now suddenly it's my father I see, he's standing there tall and straight, he looks pretty uncomfortable, he pats the back of my head a little just like he used to when I was a kid and I remember this so well. I'd just come back from a mission. First time I was on a mission that went bad, and this one turned to shit almost from day one. First time I understood that I'd only made it back because of dumb luck, not skill, not tactics, just luck. 

Sara was pregnant and this was a happy time for us, but I couldn't shake the feeling that being back, being there to see my beautiful wife, to see the signs of the child we'd made blooming inside of her, all that, was because I happened to be down in the corner far from the center of the building when the mortars hit our position. And why was I there, crouched low in the most protected part of the building, in the event of a mortar strike? Because that was where we had dug a hole through to the cellar and jammed in a bucket with the base knocked out over the top to use as a latrine. So there I was a survivor, thanks the speedy exit of the franks and beans I'd chowed down on the night before. 

We were visiting my folks, giving my mom and the sister's in law a chance to coo over the baby bump for the first time. The women were all out and it was just Pa and me out in his workshop. I don't even remember what set me off, nothing dramatic, surely wasn't some kind of father-son talk, something profound now I was about to become a father myself, because Pa and me just didn't do that. Well, Pa didn't. I might have I guess if he'd have been at all willing, if he'd ever shared anything with me. But that wasn't his way. He was the kind of man who kept it all inside and just got on with things. And he taught me to be the same. 

But this one time it just got away from me, and before I knew, I just lost it. There I was on my knees, shaking like I could hear those mortars going off, choking like the air was full of dust, and hoping that he had something for me, some words, something that would help me make sense of how I was feeling. Despite everything, I thought maybe this time he could do it. 

But he sort of stopped what he was doing and looked at me like he didn't know what he was seeing then he patted me on the head, just once, and said, _“It's okay, son.”_ Then he stepped back and went on with measuring and cutting the wood, saying over his shoulder, _“Pass me that plane would you son?”_ Wasn't much in the way of comfort but I guess it did the job, got me off my knees anyway. But it kind of capped off something in me, because I never looked to him for anything again. 

It wasn't like there were bad feelings between us, more like I finally knew he just didn't have anything to offer me at all. And later, when Charlie was born, when he was growing up, I remembered what that was like, with my dad and tried to never be that way with my own son.

It's strange seeing these long-dead faces again, can't understand why this thing, whatever it is, wants to make me remember these things. Thoughts and feelings that I buried and forgot about years ago. Things that I needed to keep a lid on. Feelings I can't afford to have. I've made sure everyone knows that Jack doesn't talk about feelings and stuff. That Jack mocks the clichés his life has become, and that nothing, but nothing can stick to him, it all just slides right off. That's the truth _everyone_ knows about Jack O'Neill. 

And I guess I never saw all this stuff together in one place like this before. Never imagined there had been so many times, so many feelings all pushed down inside. So many moments when the real Jack O'Neill was there, close to the surface before I buried him again, under the bullshit and the smart mouth and the devil may care attitude. But sometimes even I can tell it wears a little thin. And that's without all the bad stuff I did. The lives I've taken. No matter that it was all sanctioned, that it was my duty. A killer is still a killer even if he's doing it on Uncle Sam's dime. 

All the eyes I've looked into as I've killed at close range, because that was always my speciality. I'm a crack-shot sniper, real accurate; and I can hit a target on the move too, with any kind of weapons fire or knife. But it was always the silent kill they sent me on, neutralizing the sentries, taking out the body guards, and then the target, using just hands or a sharp blade. There is so much blood on my hands now they are never gonna wash clean. But I don't let myself remember. Never. Because once I start on down that road I know that really will be the end for me. I'll be buried under that mountain of corpses. 

So I try and shake off this uncharacteristic introspection, the last thing I need is to have a moment of clarity. Even the thought of it makes me doubt my sanity, makes me afraid, because there is a reason why I don't ever do this kind of deep thinking. Then a shiver of real fear goes through me again because I hear ...

“It's okay, Jack.”

And now I won't look, no matter what, because this time I'm not going to be able to tell. This time the voice is dead on, that kind of flat, slightly nasal quality, that comes from his allergies, and the gentle hint of exasperation, a kind of fond irritation, that he seems to feel when in my presence.

“This is not happening so you can just forget it right now.”  
I whisper, making to get up, to turn away, to beat this fucking thing's brains out, whatever it takes to make it stop wearing Daniel's face. 

I don't manage to move an inch because suddenly hands are on my shoulders holding me down. Holding me in place, looking up into those blue eyes and I'm swimming in a sea of confusion. Because this is him, this _is_ Daniel, and I just left him in that cell. Faint dark rings beneath his eyes, the beginnings of stubble scraped across his chin, a dark bruise high on his cheek. And the smell of him, spicy and hot with a hint of something feral, the way he smells when we've been on a mission for a couple of days and he hasn't had a chance to wash. 

That smell gets me every time and I usually have to make some smart comment, something to chivvy him into washing, just to get the edge off, because one of these days I'm not going to be able to resist him. One of these days he's gonna get just a little bit too close to me smelling like hot sex and I'm gonna have to have him. 

And now that scent fills my mind with all the things I try not to think about when Daniel is close to me. He's there, right there, and the look on his face, that kind face, it's slightly puzzled but still so soft, so gentle with longing. Danny is soft on me, I know it, but I try and never think about it and I never, ever take advantage of what I know he would gladly give me. 

I mean everyone thinks I walk around oblivious to what goes on. Everyone thinks that I don't notice the looks, don't know who sometimes stares after me, and who doesn't. That I don't realise Carter is soooo over her little crush, that the blonde nurse with the cute wiggle would put out for me in a second, and so would the armoury sargeant. That Danny gets a look on his face sometimes, when he looks at me, almost like a kid. Kind of wistful, because he knows he isn't gonna get what he wants, but he still can't help wanting it. 

So, yeah, I know, but I can't afford to notice, because I can't afford the price that noticing and then having to act on what I've noticed would cost me. Which is where the idea that O'Neill is oblivious came from. So now most people just ignore me, thinking that I don't notice because I'm not interested, which is really funny when you think about it, because I'm a guy and I ain't dead yet , so yeah, I pretty much am _always_ gonna be interested. But I decided a while ago that I could live with half of what I want, and let the rest go. That it wasn't ever gonna happen in my lifetime that I'd get everything that I wanted. It was already far too late for that. 

The training helps, too. You get to know yourself pretty well over the years doing the kind of job I do. You learn what you can stand, what you can live with and what you can live without and what you can endure. _What do I have and what do I need?_ That was one of the first things I learned, one of the most important lessons in how to survive. Not just on missions but in life too. It's just that with life I tend to think it the other way round. _What do I need and what do I have?_ And sometimes it's funny how even when you have so much less than you want it's still enough. So I have my Danny who is a little in love with me, but who is first of all my best friend and that's just enough to get me by. 

But not like this, not now they've brought him here to be with me, and he's standing so close I can feel the heat coming off him like it's gonna burn me.

“Aw, Danny don't do this, don't let them make you do something you're gonna regret.”  
I'm surprised at the weakness in my voice, the tremble , but I can't help it, and I'm dangerously close now to losing it.

“Sshh Jack, it's okay, it's all right, they won't hurt us.”  
And his hand grazes my face. Fingers touching my cheek gently, one soft little touch and it's enough to break me all over again.

“Please don't.”

But I should know Daniel, once he thinks he on the right path, once he thinks he understands what's being communicated, what we need to do to be understood, then he's relentless.

“They just need to see who we are, Jack, this must be their way, this ceremony, to prove we are human. That we are like them. Understand that all they want is to see who we are inside. Show them who you are, Jack, show them that you can worship as they do. That's all they need to see.”

I knew this logic was flawed in some fundamental way. I knew that I was missing something but my mind seemed clouded. Some of it was the feeling of fear, that I had lost track somewhere amid all the things that had stirred in my memory, all those things swelling up and filling my head, obscuring something really important. I figured I'd been drugged, and even tried to fight the foggy feeling, like I was trained to do, but that soft voice sabotaged my will and I felt myself surrendering to it. 

“Just let go, Jack, this isn't so unusual, many religions use some kind of sacred sex as part of their practices. Just let go and feel, let them see that you can feel that you can worship in this way.”

“But I can't, Daniel, I don't worship in any way, you _know_ that. My worshipping days are over. There's nothing of that left in me, not after all the things that have happened. Not after all the things I've done.”

“Then just trust me, Jack, and I'll show you how.”

My cheeks flamed bright red, the idea of Daniel and me. The idea of us together in some way, it was too close to bear.

“No, Danny, you know we can't. I can't.”

“Sshh, Jack, don't worry. This will just be between us. We're quite alone no one else can see.”

I tensed, cocking my head to listen and realized that couldn't hear anything now except Daniel's voice, couldn't feel any hands on me, restraining me. I stood up as quickly as the aching knees would allow and glanced round, the darkness receding into nothing. I couldn't see anyone, couldn't hear anyone, couldn't sense that anyone was there. Just Daniel and me, illuminated by some kind of incandescence that just glowed around us, leaving a vast dark space beyond the silvery light.

“We're alone! We can try and get back to the others. Help me find my shorts, Daniel.”

But he made no move to follow my orders.

“You offered yourself, Jack, you can't back out now. This is really important.” He paused, his head tipped to one side like he was trying to remember something, “It's _meaning of life stuff_ , for them. If you go back on your word now, I won't be able to protect you.”

“Daniel, there are so many reasons why this is a bad idea, not least of which is the regulations, I could end up in the brig, court martial, the full works. I'm your team leader, it's part of my oath. I take that very seriously, even if you don't. And besides you know that whenever any of us have had off world sex it's turned out bad, way bad. So no, I can't do it, we can't do it.”

But even as I was saying all this he was getting closer and closer, until we were pressed against each other and I could feel the touch of his skin shocking and hot against mine. His breath exhaled against my face as he whispered,

“There is no choice, Jack. The ceremony has begun, there is no going back. All we can do now is survive. Isn't that what you tell us? Just survive any way you can, the rest can wait until you're safe. They've drugged you, the Breath of the Gods is in you. Their God has seen your sacrifice, and found it pleasing. Now you have to worship at his altar to show you are worthy, to show you are one of the people, a human being. It's just you and me, you don't have to show them. Just show me.”

Daniel's hands were surprisingly strong as he pushed me gently to my knees, and I knew I'd do it. The moment I was there, on my knees to Daniel, like I had been a million times in my jerk off fantasies. The scent of him was so much more overpowering than I had ever dared imagine. And he was boiling with heat as my tongue finally, tentatively traced a line from the root to the dark plummy head of his cock. And that one hesitant touch was all it took for me to know that I wanted him deep in my throat, so hot and beautiful, spilling into me, so that part of him would be inside me forever.

I could hear myself making noises. Greedy desperate noises because I couldn't get enough of him. It made my cheeks flame because that wasn't me, that desperate moaning man could not be me, could it? But Daniel was sweet and hot and tart and bursting with life in my mouth. All those blow jobs I'd done before were like nothing to me now. All the times I'd been forced, and given them eagerly because I'd learned how in desperation. Because I'd learned that for some reason I found it more bearable to have my mouth fucked than to have them raping my ass. So I got real good real fast at giving a great blow job. Got to be the favourite American whore, probably contributed to the general fucked up state of my knees because I spent so much time on them in Iraq. But none of that mattered now, because I opened my eyes and looked up into his face.

His eyes were so dark, unfathomable, and full of soft liquid adoration, for me. His hands traced my jaw, my cheek, gently cupped the back of my head as I worshipped him with my mouth. Because I understood what they wanted. I always had, it's just I resisted it because I knew it was going to totally fuck everything up.

I felt the change in my mouth as he swelled and pulsed and then in a rush his seed spilled deep in my throat and it was a moment of purity for me as I looked up into his glowing face and swallowed the nectar he gave me. And even as his body was shivering and his cock was trembling while the final few precious drops slid down inside me, he spoke.

“Sweet, Jack.”

He caressed the length of my aching cock with his instep, then pushed up with the high arched length of his bare foot into my balls and behind, and that one touch and the hot taste of him in my mouth was enough to finish me. Even as I opened my mouth wide in a silent scream I continued to press his hot organ to the roof of my mouth with my tongue and that made him tremble and come again sending one last sweet spurt into my mouth and down my throat.

“Sweet Hotar, it is enough.”

 

****** ****** ******* ******

 

I woke up with a gasp, sweat chilling my skin where I've kicked off the blanket and the quilt. Somehow shucked my sweatpants and t-shirt. It's the tenth or fifteenth time I've woken without my clothes on and yet I've no memory of taking them off during the night. Each time I've woken up sure that someone was in my room. That they'd whispered a phrase that I never quite hear and can't remember. It's been happening since we returned from the weird planet where they kept us all locked up for a few hours then sent us back.

Except I know something else happened but I don't remember what. Teal'c, Carter, and Daniel are adamant that apart from at the very end, just the last few seconds before we found ourselves hurtling back through the wormhole, we were alone, all of us together, in that cell. They say that some robed figures came in to the hall beyond the bars of our prison and I approached them and spoke for a moment and then there was a sickening moment when everything tilted and went cold, pretty much like a bad trip through the gate, and then we were back at the SGC in a jumbled heap, all of us retching and feeling like shit.

When my post mission medical was finished, Dr. Frasier told me there were some anomalies in my blood work. She put me through a battery of tests and kept me in the Iso room for several days while they tried to figure out what I'd picked up. In the end there was nothing discernible, like an off world disease, but there was something wrong. My results were off and it had her worried, so I had to go to the Academy hospital for more tests.

No one would come out and say it, but one too many visits to the oncologist was enough of a clue that even I was pretty worried. But in the end they didn't find anything and my blood seemed to get back more or less to normal. So they signed me fit for duty, but if I'm honest I knew something was wrong.

Thing was how to explain. Jack O'Neill had too much of a reputation for being a man who would rather gnaw his own arm to a bloody stump than talk about feelings. So it was kind of awkward seeing as that was all I had. Feelings. I felt different. I was different. I didn't understand my life and I didn't quite fit in it anymore.

I'd get home from work each night and think is this it? as I sat in my living room or on my deck. I'd get up and go to work again the next day and I would ask myself the same question when I got there. I felt uneasy and yet I also felt somewhat lighter. I remembered all the things that used to weigh so heavy on me, the things I'd suppress. Anger. Despair. Regret. A deep longing for it all to just be over. I remembered all of that, but now it seemed like they were someone else's feelings entirely. Which made no sense at all, because my life was no different. The things that had happened still held importance, but somehow they no longer touched me.

I knew I was dreaming more than usual. Each morning I'd wake feeling that I'd dreamed but not recall what I'd dreamed of. I was aware the dreams were becoming more intense but I didn't understand why. So I could hardly roll up to the infirmary and tell the doc I felt funny but happier and I was having dreams but I don't know what about, and could she do something for me?

Then the dreams took a different turn, and even though I still didn't remember them, waking up naked and sticky, from a wet dream was a pretty big clue what I was dreaming about. But again no way was I gonna go to the doc with that. So I just carried on, and bitched about the extra laundry it created.

In a way the worst thing of all was the way no one else seemed to notice anything was wrong at all.

I guess it was a sign of just how far apart we had gotten. SG1 was supposed to be the closest team, we were family, we were tight. But not quite as tight as we had been. Maybe it was too much to expect, we'd been through too much, we knew each other too well to make that level of closeness an easy thing to bear.

Maybe it was down to me, I'd let us all go our separate ways, just as at first I'd pulled us tight. Perhaps for the same reason too, Daniel. Those first missions I was sure he was gonna get himself and us killed, but I also knew he was our salvation. He was the one who would get us communicating, the one who would make us friends, out there.

Problem was, I had to keep him alive to do that. So I needed to make us into a unit, I needed to focus us all on him. He was our strength but he was undoubtedly the weakness too. Not a soldier. Not even a natural fighter. So I gathered us close and made us more a family than any team I'd ever been a part of before. And it worked, that's for damn sure. In the end it worked so well that it became the problem.

I imagine that if Daniel hadn't ended up killing himself on Kelowna and then leaving with Oma, he'd have gotten me killed for sure within a few months anyway. He'd become less able to follow my lead, less able to understand that the aims of the SGC were not always those of a peaceful explorer. While finding Shau'ri had been his goal he didn't really see it. After all a search and rescue and a search and destroy mission are often pretty close. But once that focus was lost. Once Shau'ri was gone, he had to find some other reason to justify his participation.

He found the choices I had to make harder and harder to justify. He kept making me second guess my motives and my decisions and I know that sooner or later I would have hesitated when I needed to act, or stepped in because he wouldn't, and got my head blown off.

I'm a soldier through and through. Okay I'm a fly boy too, but first and foremost I've learned that the things which matter most are the mission and the team. Sometimes the mission is more important and when that happens it's my job to stand in front and take the heat so the mission can continue. Sometimes the team is most important and it's my job to call that one too. The truth is in the end Daniel never trusted me enough to let me do either of those without questioning me or my leadership.

But it wasn't until he was gone that I really understood that.

And now he's back, somehow it's not the same. We all have our reasons for being here, and Lord knows, none of us are the same anymore. Teal'c has lost some of his faith in me. I see it, every time we have to make a decision that seems to favour Earth' s safety over the Jaffa struggle.

Carter, well, she and I have skated a little too close to something we had no business contemplating and it's damaged us both, so I've stepped back. I'm old enough to know better after all, and she's cooled towards me.

With Daniel, though it's him that's holding something back. He says he's not, but I see it every day. Something is missing.

Somehow all of this wouldn't matter except I know I've lost my trust too.

In Teal'c, when he put personal revenge above everything else and nearly got me killed.

I'm pissed at Carter for playing along with my stupid flirtation when there's no way she'd ever really look at an old man like me.

Worst of all I know I'm never going to be able to forgive what happened between me and Daniel while Baal had me. The really bad part of that is Daniel says he doesn't remember anything that happened while he was ascended. He says that taking those memories from him was part of the punishment. The really worst part of all is that makes no difference at all to how I feel.

So maybe it shouldn't be a surprise that no one says a word about the way I'm feeling. And maybe I should take it as a sign it's time to quit trying.

The final straw comes on some miserable ice bound dump of a planet. Place didn't even have snow, because snow would have been cool. It just had dirty, grey, slushy ice everywhere and huge fissures, and it wore us all down. So one night it's Daniel and me in this freaking tiny tent and before we know it we're having a knock down, drag out fight. And I just snap. I have to get the fuck out of there. I have to get away, as far away as I can right now. Can't stand another god-damned second.

So I'm trying to get away, across this ice, and I can hear Daniel behind me. He's practically screaming at me but it's so windy I can't hear what he's saying. It's just noise. But he's made a loud enough racket that Sam and Teal'c suddenly both join in. Their voices are snatched away by the howling gale so all I can hear is sound, but they're not making any sense. Then there's nothing.

I wake up back in that tent and Daniel is sitting beside me and he says, “I'm sorry Jack. I didn't mean it.”

And that's okay, I mean it's an apology so I can live with that, but what I really want to know is... “Which one of you zatted me?”

“No, Jack... ”

“It was Carter, wasn't it?” I've had that vibe round Carter a lot lately, that if I don't watch it she's gonna whip out some alien device and zap me with it.

“It's not important who zatted you.”

“No? I guess not.”

Daniel looks kind of sad and tired.

“We should try and get some sleep.”

I let my eyes close but I'm aware he's still sitting there watching me, so I say. “You too, Daniel, you need sleep as well.”

“Yes, I'll get some sleep in a while... Listen, Jack.”

I'm all ears but he goes quiet again and there's just his breathing, and then.

“You have to find a way. What happened here... that can't happen again. You nearly killed yourself for God's sake. So you have to find a way, Jack, because there can be no more of this. You understand?”

“Yes Daniel, I'll find a way.” I have no idea what I'm gonna do.

There's some rustling and he's gone back to his sleeping bag and then, “Go to sleep, Jack.” And that does sound like a good idea because suddenly I'm really tired.

In the end I go to Hammond and tell him I need some leave. Of course it's not supposed to work that way in the military. You don't ask for leave, they tell you when you can have it, but Hammond knows me well, and the SGC is a burnout job. I think maybe he has been watching me for the signs of this for years. So when I tell him I've got to have some personal time he doesn't give me any grief. We chat around the idea for a while, I eventually tell him I'm seriously thinking of retiring. He tells me to take a month off to think about it some more and I grab it with both hands.

I find Teal'c and let him know the plan and I think he approves, well he says, “I approve of this plan, O'Neill.” So yeah, that pretty much covers it.

I find Carter, she's working on some zappy thing or another and I can't help feeling a little nervous. It's stupid, I know because, after all, I've zatted her, in the line of duty, and now she's zatted me back. We should just call it even, but I don't like the way she's fingering that gadget instead of looking me in the eye. When I tell her she finally looks up and she looks kind of relieved and smiles and says. “It sounds like you've given it some thought, sir.”

Daniel finds me in the locker room. I'm changed and just packing the last few things into my bag. You never know with this place, and a month is a long time, so I thought it best to take my personal stuff home.

“So?” he says sitting on the bench beside me.

“So?” I look at him, waiting.

“You're going to... ”

“The cabin.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah..”

“Get plenty of rest, don't forget to exercise, don't just live on beer and chips, you know?”

“Sure, Daniel.”

“And take your time, Jack. Don't rush it. Don't come back until you feel you're ready. Don't come back until you've figured it out.”

“You betcha.”

 

***** ******

So here I am and it's three twenty five am in northern Minnesota on the last day of my leave and I'm still having these dreams. Making it pretty clear there's more to it than on the job stress or whatever the fuck it is.

I sleep again, but wake up early feeling restless and drag my tired old body outside in some scruffy cut off sweats to take a run.

Time was I loved running. I've always run. Pavements, deserts, hiking trails, I'd run anywhere. But I always loved it best here at the cabin. Running across my own land, dodging through my own trees. My place in the early morning, the colder the better, as long as there was no actual snow on the ground. I loved the burn of cold air in my lungs and the sweat I could work up.

Now I run because I have to. I'm old and I know all that stands between me and retirement is willpower. If I can't push myself past the agony in my knees. If I can't force my heavy legs to keep on moving as fast as they can. If I can't run these ten miles over rough ground without a break, even though my lungs are screaming for one, then I can't be out there. But as long as I can force myself to do it, then I'll let myself carry on. Even if my body is shaking and my chest is heaving and my legs feel they are made of solid lead by the end of it.

I drag myself back to the cabin an hour and a half later. I don't know why I even try to kid myself, I don't have it any more. Plus I forgot to take water with me and I'm practically seeing stars I feel so dizzy and sick. My hands are shaking and I'm distracted by how bad I feel. At least that's the excuse I'm gonna' use for not realizing someone else was in the cabin.

“Jack, we only have....” Hands grab me to prevent a reaction to the surprise intruder. “Don't! Jack! It's me.”

Unexpectedly strong arms hold on to me and turn me around

“What the Hell have you been doing to yourself, Jack?”

If I wasn't already feeling like three day old shit I might have something to say about that, as it is I kind of sag pathetically in Daniel's strong grip and mumble that I forgot to take my water bottle.

I'm shoved forcefully into my old leather armchair and a moment later a blessedly cold bottle of water is pushed into my hand. But that run must have done something lasting to my body because I can't seem to muster the strength to unscrew the lid.

Daniel's sigh is eloquent as he grabs the bottle, removes and tosses the lid then shoves the bottle back into my hand.

I open my mouth to refute all the unspoken things that sigh has accused me of. Daniel interrupts. “Don't even try and explain this, Jack. Just drink your water.”

And amazingly I do what he tells me. The water feels good. The first bottle is empty and I can feel my body soaking up the liquid like a sponge. The empty bottle is replaced by another.

As I start drinking again Daniel says.  
“Drink that one slower, don't make yourself ill.”

I raise my eyebrow at the way he's ordering me around but still he's right, I'd better drink this one slower or I'll be heaving for sure. The water tastes different, it's sweet and salty, reminiscent of something, I'm not sure what exactly. It's cold in my stomach, a shocking contrast to the heat my body is still generating from the exercise.  
“Tastes funny.” I mumble between sips.

“I put a little salt and sugar in it to help with the dehydration.”  
Daniel is watching me closely. He sits directly in front of me on the blanket chest I use as a coffee table.

My vision is still blurry but I can see he's concerned about me, so I say. “I'm okay now.”  
I figure he needs to hear it.

“Why are you here, Jack?”

“On leave, you know that, Daniel.”

“Your leave finishes at 0800 hours tomorrow. You should be back in Colorado already. Or at least on the road by now.”

“Can make it back in seventeen hours.”

“Not safely!”

I want to answer. I want to tell Daniel to shove off. I want to ask what business of his it is, but in the end I just shrug.

“So what's the plan, Jack? What did you decide?”

I don't want to answer but it comes out anyway.  
“I... uh ... Retire, I guess.”  
I glance up and catch Daniel's eye.

He's staring at me. He's really concentrating hard looking at me the way he looks at his old rocks and chicken scratches. It 's un-nerving to be the subject of this level of scrutiny from the studious Dr Jackson. I want to make a joke of it, something to snap him out of his seriousness, but I can't.

“You can't want to do that.”

I want to tell him I can do whatever the fuck I like. “I can't?” is what actually comes out of my mouth.

“No.... Jack... You're needed. People rely on you. Why couldn't you think of something else?”

I don't want to say. It's bad enough feeling old and worn out, but having to admit you've had it to someone like Daniel, someone who still had so much more to do, it's kind of pathetic and humiliating. I won't say.

“I'm old and I'm tired. There's plenty of people to take my place, Daniel. No one needs me. I think it's better to go now.”

“We all need you, Jack.” Daniel stops suddenly he is staring into my eyes like he can read my mind all of a sudden. “Is there something else? Is there something the matter with you?”

I don't know how to put it into words. “Maybe... I haven't felt right for weeks. Janet arranged all these tests. Nothing shows up, but I don't believe it. Some thing's been wrong ever since that weird trip. Maybe even longer.”

“You figured it out then?” Daniel stands up suddenly and turns his. back on me. He seems to be muttering to himself and I open my mouth to ask him what he thinks he's doing, and we're somewhere else. The way they do that always makes me kind of cranky.

“I thought we'd discussed this already. Give a guy a little warning, pal. One of these days you're gonna beam me up and get an eyeful of something you really don't want to have a close encounter with.”

The little grey guy turns around and scoots over to me.

“I am a scientist, Jack O'Neill, I have theoretical knowledge of all aspects of human physiognomy and behavior but any practical demonstrations you care to give would be most enlightening.”

“Hey!” This one is far too animated to be my old buddy Thor.

“It's Dr Heimdall, Jack.” Daniel had that look in his eye like he thinks I'm some kind of idiot who can't behave appropriately in front of the aliens.

“Hey Heimi, old pal, how's it hangin'?”

There's a moment when the little guy just doesn't react. The eyes blink, and I always imagine the blink~blink sound effect when they do that.

Finally he answers. “Oooh, how wonderful!”  
This one seems far more excitable than they usually are. “One of your traditional human socialization rituals. Among peers an enquiry into the potency and efficacy of the reproductive organs must be considered an appropriate mode of greeting! Now let me see if I can give the correct response ... My genetic code is sufficiently robust to withstand further transgenic cloning migrations, thank you for asking, O'Neill.”

And Daniel wonders why I want to retire.

“We're very grateful for your help Dr Heimdall.” Daniel is trying to distract the little guy.

“What help would that be, Daniel? Because I gotta tell ya I'm not sure how much more help from our friends this old body can stand.”

“I contacted Thor. Janet had been worried for some time apparently but last month I spoke to her. I mean honestly, Jack, you've been acting so weird we all knew something was wrong. But after what happened we couldn't ignore it any longer. So when General Hammond told us what you were thinking I realized we had to get help. The Asgard seemed like the best option.”

“I resent weird. I'll admit to cranky on occasion, maybe even a touch of whimsy. But never weird.”

I know I've been feeling my age, and I know I've been a little out of sorts lately, but I feel sad inside, to think they were all watching me struggle and thinking I was just acting weird. Then again even inside my own head that sounds weird and not me at all so who knows ...

“You see, Dr Heimdall, that's what I mean, it's just weird.”

Daniel can sound like such a smug dick sometimes, it's a wonder I haven't decked him before now. But I satisfy myself with a verbal smack in the kisser. “Hey, watch it buddy!”

“Jack just sit and drink your water, and be quiet. The Doctor and I are trying to work out how to fix you.”

I don't know where Daniel gets the idea he can tell me what to do. But I suppose I am still thirsty, and the water does feel wonderful. Unlike these incredibly uncomfortable bench things they have on Asgard ships. It's something I've never understood. Why are there no seats on these things? I mean Asgard ships are the size of a sport's stadium but there's never anywhere to sit. Tok'ra are just the same, because hello all that high speed maneuverability and no one thought a couple of extra seats with a lap belt might be a good idea? And don't even get me started on the Goa'uld, for crying out loud. You fly around in something the size of a small town and all there is to sit on in the whole stinkin' place is one throne or some lousy floor cushions. And Daniel thinks I'm weird.

I notice it's gone quiet all of a sudden and when I look up they are both staring at me. Daniel has a funny look on his face like someone just kicked his puppy. Can't tell what Dr Happimeal is thinking, you never can with the Asgard, but he's definitely not bobbing around like he was.

I take another slow drink of my water. Watching them watching me. I don't feel like talking but I figure they know what I'm thinking, and it ain't pretty.

“You must realize what's happening, Jack.”

I just stare back.

“What are you doing right now?”

I spread my arms wide, I don't know why he's being such a dick about it, it should be obvious. I take another drink all the while holding his stare.

“You're doing exactly what I told you.”

He's delusional, it's the only answer.

“I said sit down and drink your water.”

I don't know what kind of point he thinks he's making.

“Dr Jackson also told you to be quiet, Jack O'Neill.”

Now it's the two of them ganging up on me, but really I don't get what their problem is. So what if I don't feel like talking?

“And now it appears you cannot talk.”

And that just goes to show what Asgards know about humans, it's not that I can't talk. I'm just not gonna be a talking monkey for some experiment It's just mad, as if I do stuff just because Daniel tells me to.

“Jack, please, just come here.”

I wonder sometimes if Daniel has us all fooled. I mean he's supposed to be this really smart genius. So how come he never seems to make his mind up. One minute it's sit over there, now it's come back here. As I reach him I realize he looks pretty tired. I don't know, I imagined the whole team would've had some leave seeing as I did. Maybe I guessed wrong.

“Jack.”  
He touches my arm, he's peering right up into my face. He's barely an inch shorter than I am but it means he has to tilt his head a little look me in the eyes, and it accentuates the dark smudges under his eyes and the tight lines that bracket his mouth.  
“You honestly don't see it do you?”

I smile at him a little. He exasperates me so much sometimes but I guess in the end we've shared so much. He was my best friend. I just wish I could forget what happened when he was gone the way he seems to have.

“I suppose I can't blame you because I didn't see it either. I think Teal'c noticed first. He said something but it was impossible and I told him he was mistaken. But he must have mentioned it to Sam because then she spoke to me. I still dismissed it, but I guess it planted a seed of doubt. Making me think, making me re-evaluate, making me question things. Trying to unravel it .”

I nod because, yeah, I know just what Daniel is like once that big brain of his gets caught up in some puzzle. He's relentless.

“So I pushed and I prodded and I experimented. I tried to be responsible, not asking you to do things that were dangerous or demeaning. And it was very subtle too. It's never just words. There have to be feelings, at least I think that's how it works. It seemed to happen when there were strong emotions. Or maybe you have some resistance to it normally and it's only when I really focus hard or when I totally lose it that you can't control the reaction. Or maybe it didn't exist at all. At least that's what I thought. Because how could I know your reactions weren't normal. I mean sometimes you do just listen to what I have to say and agree with me.”

Daniel stops for a minute. And I want to smile because yes, sometimes I do just agree with what he has to say, but he looks upset, no, he looks shattered and a smile now wouldn't be right. So I touch his arm, just to let him know I get it, I see he's struggling with something.

“But in the end I wasn't very professional, because I forgot. I got caught up in the personal. I got caught up in my own issues and it all ended up in that argument on P1X13.”

P1X13, which one was that? My brain is like Swiss cheese when it comes to the stupid numbers, why can't they give these places names a guy can remember.

“Frozen armpit of Hell?”

Oh there. He's talking about that argument.

“I don't know why I did it, maybe at first I was trying to prove to myself nothing was wrong, that Teal'c and Sam were imagining things. Then like all arguments it took on a life of its own. I pushed you to answer then I didn't like the answers you gave. So I said some unforgivable things, and you did too. But I forgot the difference..You only did it because I made you. Because apparently screaming at the top of your lungs don't hold back, Jack tell me how you really feel was forceful and emotional enough to prove the point and make you obey. And when you told me how you really felt I was pretty much devastated, and guilty and angry. I was angry at myself, which made me lash out. It's one of my less admirable qualities, I'll attack when I feel threatened, and I know that's good when a Goa'uld is doing the threatening, but not so good when it's your dearest friend. And I'm so, so sorry I forgot, Jack. I forgot what Teal'c had said and what Sam had said. I forgot that you were only doing what I told you to. And honestly I didn't mean it, not in my heart. It's just I was so mad, at myself mostly So I told you... ”

Daniel stops again and he really is distressed telling me this. I can see he feels it deeply. I could tell him that it's okay but I can see he needs me to stay quiet so he can say this. You see, despite what some people think, I do know the value sometimes of saying nothing.

“So I told you to get out of my sight, to get out of my face. I told you to just fuck off and never come back. I told you that I never wanted to see you again.”

I know just how Daniel felt. I remember the argument pretty damned clearly. I remember that overwhelming feeling of having to get away. I can hardly blame him for feeling the same way.

“I know you still don't get it, Jack. When I said that, every shred of animation just dropped right off your face. Until that point you had been pretty animated, fiery, passionate even, telling me how you really felt. But once I said it, you just stopped dead, turned around and walked out of the tent. It took me a second to register that you had gone. Took me another few to actually remember what I had really said to you. Took a moment longer to understand you really were going to do what I'd asked.

“I ran outside, the wind nearly cut me in half it was so fierce and cold. I didn't know how you were managing to stay upright. I couldn't understand how you'd got that far away so quickly. I was chasing after you, screaming at you to stop, but I guess you couldn't hear me. You dropped your gun and your parka, the cap and your gloves one at a time. You were struggling with your jacket and that slowed you down a little. Sam and Teal'c heard me, and they caught up with me. Thank God one of them had the presence of mind to use the zat. When we got to you, you were already bone white from the cold. You were about six feet from a crevasse. Two more seconds and you would have walked right off into it. ”

I don't remember that. I guess I must have been pretty mad. I'm sure Daniel is exaggerating, though because I'm not a jump off the edge kind of guy, not any more. That's more his department.

“Jack, there is something wrong with you. Somewhere, somehow they did something to you. They rewired your brain, or infected you with a virus, or you ate poison, or drank a potion.  
And now you have to do whatever I tell you. Like a slave or something.”

It's pretty clear to me that someone's brain has been fried, that's for sure. I glance across at Dr Happi, to make sure he's hearing all of this loud and clear. I guess I wasn't the only one in need of some rest Daniel seems to be totally out of his freaking mind.

“I know, I know how demented that sounds. You can see why I didn't take it seriously when Teal'c first spoke to me. Because even for us it's pretty far fetched.”

I figure he must have a fever or something. He's kind of distracted and I don't think he'll notice if I just check his forehead out. He grabs my hand away before I get a chance to check his temperature.

“And you still don't see it do you, Jack?”

You got that right buddy, all I see is my best friend having some kind of a nervous breakdown. I don't understand how Sam or General Hammond could have let him go off when he's like this. I notice Daniel hasn't let go of my hand either, which is a little weird but kind of sweet too.

“So have you seen enough, Dr Heimdall?”  
Daniel looks across at the little guy. Looks like Heimi's fiddling with something on a control panel.

“Just a few more readings, Dr Jackson. I am beginning to see a pattern. Maybe if you suggest something totally out of character.”

“It feels wrong,like taking advantage.”

“It is an experiment, a scientific endeavor. It's for his own good.” The little guy sounds kinda over-enthusiastic to me.

“Okay.” Daniel doesn't seem bothered but this is one Asgard I'm keeping my eye on. He may be on to Daniel, trying to get him to do something to prove he's lost his marbles, and I'm with him up to a point. But I don't want him doing anything that might hurt Danny. These medical types can get caught up in their experiments way too easily.

“Okay, Jack I want you to take off your sweat-shirt.”

Say what? Although now you come to mention it this place is getting pretty warm, maybe Daniel is right, I could do with a few less layers.

“And I want you to go over to Dr Heimdall and kiss him.”

What? Eeew. No way, Danny-Boy, not even to help out with your diagnosis, am I doing that!

“Hhhmmm very interesting, Dr Jackson.”

“He didn't do it! How does that help at all?”

“I believe you pinpointed the reason a while ago. Intent. I do not believe you actually want Jack to come over here and become intimate with my lips. ”

Too right he doesn't. And even if he did, I wouldn't. I stare at the little guy until I know he understands that the O'Neill lips are off limits.

“You have something to say on the matter, Jack O'Neill?”

I give him the hairy eyeball, because sometimes words really are superfluous.

“Very interesting.” This Asgard really is an infuriating little dick.

“It still makes no sense the way some things work and others don't.”

“I disagree, Dr Jackson. I have one more scan to run and I believe we will have our answer. Now this time you must order him to do something that you really want him to do. Something he would never do under any normal circumstances. Something he would never do under normal circumstances even if you asked him to. Something undeniably, irrefutably outside normal activity for either of you.”  
“I can't... I don't feel comfortable with this Dr Heimdall.”

I turn to look at Daniel again. I hope he can see that I trust him. That I know he would never do anything to hurt me, no matter what he seems to think.

“Look, he trusts me. How can I ask him to do something which betrays that?”

“Dr Jackson you have to. You wish to cure Jack O'Neill, yes? Or at least to understand what afflicts him, if there is no cure to be had. Well you must act now. Think of something. Quickly! Have no fear, you will not harm him. Do you honestly think I would allow harm to come to O'Neill, Supreme Commander Thor's favourite human? I would never be so unwise, as to execute this plan without ensuring his safety. What do you want? Do not be afraid. Tell O'Neill what to do!”

Yeah, come on, Danny tell me. I don't think I can stand...

“Kiss me, Jack. I want you to kiss me so hard I can't even remember my name.”

Aw Hell, why'd he ask me to do that?

It's not like I haven't wanted to. It's not like I haven't imagined just grabbing him and kissing the bejesus out of him. If nothing else it would be a way to shut him up, and I've come pretty close to doing it too, more than once. But I didn't because there was never even the smallest sign that he might actually want the same thing I do.

I figured long ago it was a one-way street.

Even now, ten years later, he looks incredibly good. He's built now, and he's finally learned how to dress himself and get a decent haircut. Not like when I first knew him. I mean for crying out loud, will you look at him, then look at me? It's obvious why I'd want him. And it's obvious why I'd never stand a chance.

But he's looking at me now like his heart is breaking.

Like he really means what he said.

Like he really does want me to...

“Tell me...mmmmhh... tell me, Jack... Oh God... ”

His mouth is so sweet, and kissing doesn't... can't shut him up, but I don't care. I love the feel of his lips moving against mine. I love how hot his breath is in my mouth...

“Jack, tell me... Uuuhh... ”

I love how strong and wet his tongue is... Christ I'm... Oh yeah... I'm... Oh... hard just from him pushing it in my mouth.

“Tell me... Jack.. Tell me how you feel. Show me how you feel.”

“I fuckin' love you, Daniel.” It feels like the first time I ever kissed anyone. Feels like Nancy Olsen, only better, because now I know exactly what I'm doing. “I love you. Oh Christ, I want you. Always have.”

“Jack.”

He's hot and hard in my arms, so solid. So fuckin' there. But everywhere I touch him it feels like he's liquid, molten, melting into my hands, into my chest, his mouth melting into mine. I'm on fire, feel like I'm gonna burn to the ground, I want him so much.  
“Got to have you... Daniel... want you now.”

“We can't.”

Mmmhh, need to touch him, touch his skin. I'm burning up with the need to touch him, to have him in me. Just need to move back a couple of steps. Yeah, that's better, just push him up against this bulkhead.

“We can... Please, Danny... come on... Christ... I won't last... Need to feel... ”

He has far too many clothes, layers, buttons... zip. That's better.

“Oh yeah...mmmmhh... taste.”

“Jack!”

Finally he's quiet. I'd make a joke about how come he's being quiet when it's my mouth that's full, but its too good and I think if I stop he'll realize where we are and what we're doing and somehow he'll make me stop. And I don't want to stop. I never want to stop.

I don't care if aliens made us do this. I don't care if something is wrong with my brain. I don't care if it means the world is ending. I don't care about anything except him. I never thought this would happen and now it has, I'm never going to lose him. I'm never going to give him up.

Finally he opens his eyes and looks down at me. There are two spots of high color on his cheeks and I can see he's flushing red down across his throat and chest. His eyes are still half closed and kind of vague, he's drifting a little. He has this goofy smile on his face. All the times I imagined him, I never guessed he'd be goofy and loose like this when he was about to come. God, I love him so much.

I suck him right down, now. No gag reflex, just that full feeling in my throat where I swallow and swallow and it builds up a kind of excitement in me. I've got one hand up between his legs now and I give his balls a little tug and that's all it takes. His body is jerking and shaking, it's all uncoordinated, and he makes these little gasping sounds, and I just swallow him down.

The taste of him in my throat is enough. It's so sweet, and slow, and warm. The pleasure kind of leaks out of me in a messy, aching roll of my hips. I rest my head for a moment against his belly. I want one more taste of him so I suck hard, poking my tongue into his slit. He's too sensitive and he gasps and doubles over which pulls his cock out of my mouth. It makes me smile, because I know how that feels. It's too intense, but you can't help enjoying it. I want it too.

I stand up, my knees aren't as fucked as I was expecting. Asgards might be crap at soft furnishings but maybe they know a thing or two about flooring.

Daniel is slumped against the wall like a corpse. It's only me that's holding him up, I think. I press against him and grab his face and pull him into a deep kiss, my tongue deep in his mouth then sucking his tongue back into mine. I want him to taste himself in there.

It takes him two attempts before he manages to lift one hand up and grab the back of my neck. He holds me tight so he can kiss me back just as hard. I grab his other hand and push it down inside my sweatpants and grind myself into his hand. He instinctively squeezes and it makes me moan and shiver, it's too much so soon after I've come. It makes me want to break open and spill again all over his hand, because it's just what I want but I can't stand the intensity either and pull his hand out.

My come is on his fingers now and I push his hand up and press his fingers to his lips, smearing it clumsily around his mouth until he opens up and sucks on his own fingers. All the while he's watching me, gradually coming back from his daze until he smiles around his fingers. It's lazy and predatory, he moves his hand until it's covering my mouth. I slide my tongue out to taste myself on his palm. I whisper into his hand. “It's forever, Daniel.”

He laughs a little, a delighted sound, I'm not sure if it's because his palm is ticklish, but then he says smiling. “As long as love lasts.”

The bulk head seems to melt slowly into a horizontal surface and Daniel slumps down with it and takes me with him. It's weird, walls moving and turning into furniture, disconcerting. I know from now on I'll be watching out for that kind of thing, suddenly appearing foot stools and the like. But at least it had the decency to turn itself into a bed, so right now I'm not gonna argue with it.

We're just lying here but it feels like something momentous is happening.

I lift up my head and look at Daniel.

“Sssh, Jack.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, close my mouth with a snap, but then...

“Don't think that works any more, Danny.”  
I give him my patented shit-eating-grin. Just because I know how obnoxious he finds it.

“You have no idea how obnoxious I find that, Jack.”

“You're right, I have no idea whatsoever.”

I stare.

He stares back.

Daniel stands no hope in a staring contest with me.

But then I realize the lesson, I guess maybe, I was supposed to learn from all of this. I don't always have to win with Daniel.

I keep staring at him really hard and push my face close to his, I must look pretty demented from that close up. He's gone nearly cross-eyed. Then I just shut my eyes, turn and lay my head against his shoulder, and mumble. “I'm never letting you go. I hope you understand that.”

He wraps his arm around me tighter and mumbles back to the top of my head. “Fine by me.”

 

~~~ ### Coded message###~~~~  
To Supreme Leader Frigg  
CC To Commander Thor

I am delighted to confirm the Hand fasting has at last taken place.  
My compliments to our exalted leader. Without your intervention, Ladyship, I fear these foolish stubborn humans may have never fulfilled their destiny.

The use of an enchantment was a masterful touch. Breath of the Gods is always so reliable.

The usual Hand-fasting photographs and souvenirs will follow shortly.  
And of course, for close friends and family, a video of the ceremony will be available.

Yours Respectfully  
Heimdall

~~~###End coded message###~~~


End file.
